Arch of Death
by fourandtwenty
Summary: After the events of Harry's fifth year, he must come to grips with his loss and what he now knows his future to hold. Unbeknownst to him, on the night Sirius fell, Harry was lied to; Sirius has yet to truly fall into the hands of Death. He survived.
1. Through the Arch

**Arch of Death**- _Prologue_  
  
_(This is a Post-OotP fanfic, and will contain spoilers.)_  
  
  
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_Dark shadows flickered around him, laughing and whispering, harsh sounds of the most secretive, of the most vulgar of his thoughts. There was no peace, no redemption, just blackness, inky velvet suffocating him and eating away at his very soul. He had hoped—_  
  
_Somewhere deep inside of him, he had hoped to see the others. They were in a different place—they must have been. This wasn't supposed to be right. There had to be a way out, something other than the blackness—_  
  
_Harry. He had to get to Harry._  
  
_A part of him was still hanging on; a piece of the musty fabric had caught, and even though he knew it simply couldn't be possible, he had to try anyway—if not for himself, then for Harry._  
  
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Far away from the Death Chamber hidden deep within the Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter awoke with a start, his pajamas clinging to his skin as he body produced more sweat that he knew to be healthy. The darkness surrounding him wasn't nearly as oppressive as the darkness in the arch had been; it was the third night in a row he'd had that dream, and each time he awoke convinced Sirius truly was coming back, that somehow he had managed to escape from Death.  
  
And each time, it took only a moment for him to come crashing back down to reality. Sirius was dead. He wasn't going to return no matter how hard Harry wished it. His godfather, whom he loved dearly and to whom had never said goodbye, was on the other side, where his parents and Cedric dwelled.  
  
Cedric. His death, while tragic, now seemed so small and insignificant. Harry was alone in the world now, surrounded by people yet without anyone to love. He was coping, learning to deal with it, but secretly that was the last thing he wanted to do; what he wanted was to scream, to tear his hair out, to find the woman who had killed Sirius and rip her apart, piece by piece, until all that was left of Bellatrix Lestrange was her eyes, her dark eyes that would forever be filled with fear.  
  
He lay in bed, eyes glued to the blank ceiling above him, wondering what had happened to Sirius. They had never recovered a body; Harry spoke to Lupin almost daily, through either the post or by Floo Powder, and the werewolf had informed Harry the best they could do was to bury an empty coffin some miles from central London. They had informed the Ministry both of Sirius' death and innocence, and Harry wanted nothing more than to see the look on Cornelius Fudge's face when he heard from Dumbledore himself that Sirius was innocent.   
  
He was receiving the Daily Prophet each morning, and it seemed that nearly every edition mentioned him. Ever since Dumbledore had revealed the vague prophecy to him so many weeks ago, he had somehow felt disjointed from reality, as if his only purpose was to defeat the Dark Lord. In a way, he mused, it was; there was no one else who could do it, and the thought both pleased and terrified him. After all Voldemort had done to him, he wanted to be the one to take him down.  
  
For the first time in days, his thoughts drifted toward Neville. He could scarcely believe the plump, clumsy boy could have ever possibly been considered Voldemort's equal. With a stab of sympathy, he remembered seeing Neville visit his parents at Christmas the year before, and wondered briefly if somehow the prophecy was wrong, if both he and Neville were to take down the Dark Lord—or perhaps Neville too bore a scar similar to the one Harry carried, a great slash shaped like a bolt of lightning. Maybe together they would defeat all that was evil and avenge the lives of those they had lost.  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes once more, too awake to dream and too tired to sleep, fighting hard against the dull blackness that surrounded him. It had been far too long since he had rested, far too long since he had felt alive, and Harry had a sinking feeling that until Voldemort was defeated, he would, as the prophecy said, never be able to live while the other survived.  
  
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Back in the unlit stone Death Chamber, inside the Department of Mysteries, a single pale hand thrust through the veil of death and gripped the side of the arch. With a sound that could only be described as thousand and thousands of screams joining together to form one solid wall of absolutely sound, Sirius Black pulled his pale and trembling body from the archway. After a moment of eyes darting to and fro, he promptly fainted at the edge of the dais into a pile of skin and rags.  
  
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	2. Addition to the Cause

**Arch of Death** - _Chapter One_  
  
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I'm surprised that this story is so well-received so far. I wasn't satisfied with OotP, and therefore decided to go and write my own last two HP books--this is what it'll be, all of my theories wrapped into a nice, neat little bow, with all the romance and action and angst rolled together, a la HP style. I have a huge theory that could quite easily work into fan fiction that I have yet to see done before, so I'm going to have to work on that one. I apologize for the chapters being so short, but I write in chunks.  
  
Aimée  
  
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Harry was awoken the next morning by a loud pounding coming from his bedroom door. Surprised by not only his rude awakening, but that the Dursleys hadn't once taken the time to wake him up properly. He swung his legs out of bed quickly, all but forgetting the dream he had had only hours previous, and went to unlock his bedroom door.  
  
As he pulled the wooden frame open, he was shocked as to who was on the other side. Instead of porky Uncle Vernon or horse-faced Aunt Petunia, he was greeted by the lined and agéd face of a member of the Order of the Phoenix: Remus Lupin.  
  
"Remus!" he exclaimed, throwing the door open and stepping forward to greet the werewolf. He immediately stepped back, however, when he realized how troubled Remus looked. His hair seemed to be even grayer than it had been only a few weeks earlier, when he, Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks (who absolutely hated her given name and refused to answer to anything but Tonks) had seen him off with the Dursleys at King's Cross Station, just outside the barrier of Platform 9¾. His face seemed to have accumulated even more lines, yet his eyes were bright and alert.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," Remus said in a tired voice. He forced a tight smile and stepped into the boy's room. "How soon can you be packed and ready to go?"  
  
Harry stared at the name for a moment, unable to believe his ears. "Excuse me?"  
  
Remus' eyes twinkled. "How soon can you be ready to go, Harry?"  
  
"Err—" Harry blinked. "Now, I suppose."  
  
The werewolf chuckled heavily. "I thought you might feel that way. Dumbledore's waiting for us back at—" He dropped his voice. "—headquarters, along with the rest of the gang. I have a portkey."  
  
Harry's eyes lit up with excitement. "Just—just let me get my trunk really quick, I haven't unpacked much and—"  
  
Quick as a flash, Harry darted around his room, picking up the various objects he had removed from his trunk in the weeks previous. There weren't many, as his possession were few and far between, but that didn't seem to bother him. He quickly changed out of his pajamas after Remus politely turned away, stowed his wand inside of his jeans, and closed Hedwig's empty cage.  
  
"Ready," he said in a breathless voice. Remus turned around, a weary smile upon his pale features.  
  
"All right then," he said in a deep growl. "Let me just find the portkey—"  
  
He began to dig around in his pockets, of which where were many, while Harry simply stood there and waited. All at once, a dozen different questions hit him, and he felt he must ask at least one.  
  
"Remus?" he said in a careful voice. "Why are you here so soon?"  
  
Remus looked up from his searching. "There have been…events…that you need to know about, and as the only one who we know can face Voldemort—"  
  
"You mean Dumbledore's told everyone about that prophecy?" Harry blurted out, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.  
  
"What? Oh, yes, of course," Remus said distractedly as he continued to search his pockets. Finally, with a triumph sound coming from the back of his throat, he pulled out a shining purple marble attached to a piece of leather cord.  
  
Harry didn't know how to receive this new piece of information. Ever since the Ministry of Magic had finally accepted Dumbledore's word on Voldemort's return, he had been able to think of nothing else but what the world would say when they found out for sure that he, a sixteen year old boy, was the only one strong enough to bring down Voldemort. He knew that if he were any part of that vast majority, he would run for the hills much as the giants did and never return.  
  
Remus held out the purple marble for him to take. Harry held the smooth sphere in his hand with a sort of wonder, and when Remus touched the polished surface with his own fingertips, he felt a familiar jerk behind his navel, and he, Remus, and his trunk were flying through blackness, until finally felt himself land on a hard surface with a thud.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and adjusted his glasses, which had gone askew, and immediately surveyed his surroundings. His heart dropped to his knees as he took in the familiar musty curtains, the troll leg, and worst of all, the hall of decapitated house elf heads, a hall that now boasted one more trophy for its cause.  
  
He was back at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.   
  



	3. Welcoming

**Arch of Death** - _Chapter Two_  
  
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All right guys, I know some of you are concerned about how it is said in the summary how Sirius is the one who dies, but I'd rather not change it. Those who are reading fan fiction now are well aware of the possible reprecussions of reading through fan fiction summaries. Sirius' name is mentioned after it is made clear that this is a post-OotP fic, and anyone reading past that...well, it's certainly not my fault they chose to read fanfic before the book.  
  
That having been said, this story will be much longer than it is at the present time. I want to try and get through Harry's sixth and seventh years, and that isn't going to be written in a few short chapters. This is only the beginning, I promise.  
  
Aimée  
  
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The most notable difference from his last visit to the Black house was not the lack of Ron and Hermione's presences, rather the empty and echoing quality about the ancient stone. Harry stood in the middle of the entrance hall, staring quite stupidly at Remus Lupin as he tried to absorb the fact that Sirius wasn't there. Whist he had only known the Black house for less than a year, he still believed he could never imagine the eerie halls and tingle of dark magic without his lovable and oftentimes rash godfather.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Remus said in a strangely gentle voice. "Dumbledore's waiting for us."  
  
Harry complied, following the werewolf numbly through the door he had seen his guard walk through nearly a year before, but one he himself had never entered. As he stepped through the threshold, he found the War Room of the Order of the Phoenix to be no more or less impressive than the rest of the house; the only real difference was the maps and charts hanging from what seemed to be every available wall and surface in the room, and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore sitting in the middle, at the very head of a long and regal-looking table.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said with an inclination of his head.  
  
"Headmaster." Harry greeted him much in the way Dumbledore had himself. "What—why—"  
  
The headmaster gave the briefest of smiles before spreading his long fingers out on the table before him and staring directly into Harry's eyes. "Has Remus informed you of anything that has been going on?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No—well, I mean, some of it, but not—"  
  
"Then you aren't aware that an Unspeakable by the name of William Blatgure has now been promoted to the head of his department?"  
  
Harry was taken aback by Dumbledore's strange and seemingly random question. "I read it in the Daily Prophet, but I don't see what that has to do with—"  
  
Dumbledore sighed, and Harry abruptly stopped speaking. For some reason, the weariness the Headmaster portrayed frightened him; only once before had he seem him in such a vulnerable state, and that had been right after Sirius—  
  
_Don't think about that_, he snapped to himself, harnessing all thoughts about his godfather as he concentrated hard on the aged and tired eyes before him.  
  
"William Blatgure was promoted for a single reason, Harry."  
  
Harry blinked. "What, did he manage to capture a Death Eater? Capture Voldemort? Dementors? Wh—?"  
  
"Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, and in an instant Harry froze.  
  
"S-Sirius?" he stuttered. "But Sirius—he—but…"  
  
Harry trailed off, vaguely aware that he was trembling. He felt a hand—Remus', no doubt—upon his shoulder, and for a fleeting instant he explored what Dumbledore was telling him. Sirius was dead; he had been for weeks, and he was sure there was no way to raise the dead. Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry had seen it for himself.  
  
"Sirius is dead," Harry finally said in a hollow and emotionless voice. "Stop pretending he isn't, Headmaster—please."  
  
Dumbledore sighed once more. "That is where I'm afraid Remus and I have both steered you wrong, Harry. Sirius is not dead."  
  
Harry felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured upon him. Immediately, he made a motion as to grip the table, but his unsteady hand missed and he stumbled. He felt Remus' grip tighten to steady him, but his knees felt so weak that he was sure the motion would do no good.  
  
"Sirius?" he said weakly, his vision swimming in front of him. "He's alive?"  
  
"Yes," Remus said in a gentle voice, his mouth so close to Harry's ear that he could feel the werewolf's warn breath upon his skin. "He's been captured by the Ministry."  
  
Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, in an attempt to cure the dizziness that had befallen him. He heard the scrap of a chair against the ancient wooden floor, and he knew Dumbledore had stood.  
  
"The veil that Sirius fell through was the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead," Dumbledore explained quietly. "The underworld does not accept the living into its realms. While we do not know how Sirius has returned, it is a matter of the greatest urgency that we return him to our care, else I fear he _will _die."  
  
"The Ministry isn't aware of Sirius' innocence," Remus pointed out as he steered Harry toward a chair. Harry felt his body sink down onto the seat, but all he could register was Remus' words and the suffocating darkness that had surrounded him.   
"While we've been in contact with Fudge—"  
  
"He refuses to give Sirius up without reasonable proof that he is innocent of the charges placed upon him fifteen years ago," Dumbledore said slowly. "You, Harry, are the only person in the Order who has seen Peter Pettigrew alive."  
  
Harry opened his eyes suddenly. "But Headmaster, I'm not in the Order—"  
  
"You are now," Dumbledore said quietly, in a tone that left no room for questions. "While you will never be sent upon the same missions the others are, we have all agreed it is of the utmost importance that you be well aware of what is going on. You are the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort, Harry, and that, I feel, registers a certain amount of leeway when it comes to age restrictions and the like."  
  
Harry lifted his chin up slightly higher, a feeling of pride flowing through him as Dumbledore's words sunk into his mind.   
  
Finally, he sighed deeply, his mind still wrought with confusion over Sirius' sudden resurrection—or discovery, he supposed, as Sirius had never been dead in the first place.  
  
"All right," he said resolutely, pronouncing each word slowly. "What do I have to do?"  
  



	4. Crackled Serum

**Arch of Death** - _Chapter Three_  
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Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, and to all of you who are simply taking the time to read this. I was overwhelmed by the amount of responses this piece has received in such a short time, and I hope the pattern continues. I love hearing from you guys, and eventually, when I get the time, I will begin to write out individual responses. This chapter is a bit longer than the others, a bit more stuffed, and I do hope you enjoy. I will warn you; there will be a very mild hint of slash in this story. I'm a Remus/Sirius shipper, and while I will not make it detailed or throw it in your face, their relationship will play a bit of a role. They'll still be the same ol' Remus and Sirius, don't worry. I just believe that the canon characters have SOMETHING going on, something Harry has yet to discover, and I for one am all for it.  
  
Aimée  
  
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Harry sat between Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody, painfully aware of how everyone seated at the long wooden table was staring directly at him, most with no shame or attempt to hide their actions. Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, and on either side of him was Mad-Eye and Severus Snape, who seemed intent on murdering Harry with a single glare.   
  
Dumbledore had yet to call order at the meeting, and while Harry waited, he kept his eyes focused on his folded and trembling hands. He had been made aware of Sirius' appearance only an hour before, and the impact of such news had yet to fully sink into his brain. Remus' constant presence did little to help his state of mind, but Harry was thankful that he was willing to go to such lengths to make sure Harry was all right.  
  
Finally, Dumbledore stood up slowly, unfolding his lithe body until he was at his full and formidable height. His blue eyes were no longer twinkling; instead, a sense of absolute seriousness settled throughout the room as all of the hushed conversation and whispering came to a halt.  
  
"Welcome," he said in a strangely hoarse voice. It was then when Harry finally began to appreciate how the Headmaster was remaining strong, possibly only for Harry's sake and sanity. "I see many of you have noticed the new addition to our ranks."  
  
There was no denying it now; every head in the room was now turned toward Harry, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat and refused to meet anyone's eyes.  
  
"I'm quite sure that Mr. Potter here needs no introduction," said Dumbledore quietly as he leaned forward slightly, supporting his lean body with his arms placed firmly atop the table. "I do, however, wish that all of you treat him with the respect he deserves, for none of us have managed to escape from Voldemort as many times as he. He is here to gain knowledge of the task set before him, as stated in the prophecy I confided within you all at the start of the summer. He is not go on missions and he is not to be compromised in any way; he is still our highest priority, and it is of the utmost importance that he be guarded at all times, no matter what his rank within the Order."  
  
As Dumbledore paused to take in a deep breath, Harry shifted even further down within his seat. He knew that no matter how hard he denied it, he was still to play a vital role in the upcoming events that would eventually shape the future and destiny of the Wizarding world, but he was still very wary of that sound piece of knowledge. He had never asked for such a task to be placed upon him, and for the Headmaster to say these words with such ease, to tell them all that out of all of those who sat around the table—and perhaps the entire world—he was the most important; he was the one whom they must protect, even if it meant for them to sacrifice their lives.  
  
He squirmed once more, wishing fiercely that the others turn away. He had already been responsible for the loss of many lives; he wasn't keen on bearing the burden of death for much longer, knowing that in the end, he would either become murder or victim. He needn't have anything else on his conscience, especially not the death of any member of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
"Albus!" Mad-Eye spoke up, his electric-blue eye spinning wildly in its socket. "He's only a boy—and a straggly one at that. I bet he can barely transfigure a match, let alone cast the Killing Curse—"  
  
"What he can and cannot do is not open for discussion, Alastor," said Dumbledore sharply. "He is to be trained by the Order, and we shall all help him develop the skills he needs to conquer Voldemort."  
  
Harry, stinging slightly from the insult Mad-Eye had flung his way, finally dared to raise his head and meet the Headmaster's strong and steady gaze.   
  
"How many O.W.L.s did you get, boy?" said Mad-Eye harshly, turning both his large blue and smaller black eye upon him.  
  
"I don't see what O.W.L.s have to do—" Remus began, but Harry interrupted him.  
  
"Nine," he said defiantly. "I got top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration—"  
  
"And Potions," said a silky voice that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand straight. "Amazingly, Potter managed to achieve an 'O' in Potions, and thus fulfilling all of the requirements to head down the path to become an Auror."  
  
Harry turned his head to face Severus Snape, a look of utter disbelief upon his face. While he himself had known of his miraculous potions grade—no doubt due to the lack of pressure placed upon him by his least-favorite teacher during the O.W.L. exams—he was shocked Snape had bothered to look into the matter.  
  
Dumbledore clapped his hands gleefully. "I suppose that settles it then, doesn't it, Alastor? You yourself achieved only eight O.W.L.s back in your fifth year—"  
  
"Fine," growled Mad-Eye. "Can we continue now, Dumbledore?"  
  
"We may," said the Headmaster with an inclination of his head. "As I'm sure many of you are aware of, Sirius Black has been captured by the Ministry, and while I have been attempting to negotiate his freedom with the Minister, I do believe he feels it prudent to send Sirius back to Azkaban."  
  
This news was met with murmurs of disbelief and voices filled with fear. Harry glanced to his right and saw Remus stiffen slightly, his eyes downcast and knuckles white.  
  
"How did this happen?" said Kingsley Shacklebolt in a low rumble. "I thought Sirius was dead."  
  
"We all did," said Dumbledore gently, his eyes flickering briefly to where Harry and Remus sat. "However, we have all been mistaken; the world in which Sirius fell is what we and the Ministry believes to be the Afterlife, and we are not entirely certain as to how Sirius escaped. There are a number of possibilities—"  
  
"The Afterlife doesn't allow the living to enter," said Snape in a voice so low Harry could barely make out his words. "While the veil does in fact mark the border between the living and the dead, it is my belief that Black was unable to get much further. Time is non-existent in death, so it is entirely possible that is why this has not happened until now."  
  
The entire room had turned their gazes from Harry to Snape, and Harry was staring at his Potions professor—for another two years, it seemed—along with the others.  
  
"The Dark Lord had many of his most loyal servants well-versed in the exact meaning and function of Death," continued Snape in the same tone. "It is what he fears most, and he is a firm believer that knowledge can stop reality from happening, even if it is destined to occur."  
  
With these words, his fathomless dark eyes rose and met Harry's, and for an instant Harry felt a crackle of power and sense of familiarity pass between them. For a moment, Harry thought he saw astonishment appeared upon Snape's sallow features, but he blinked and saw that Snape looked as he always did: menacing and disturbingly unclean.  
  
"So Sirius wasn't dead when he fell through the veil?" asked Harry in a small voice he was immediately ashamed of hearing.  
  
"No, Harry," said Dumbledore kindly as he turned toward him. "Bellatrix Lestrange did not kill Sirius."  
  
Harry forced himself to remember that terrible night in the Department of Mysteries, when he had been so sure he had lost his godfather and the only person he had ever loved as a father. His mind was still swimming with the news of Sirius' survival, and although he had been captured by the Ministry, Harry was certain they would bring him back. Fear curled up inside him, ready to strike at any moment, but he subdued his apprehension, refusing to believe anything but the best could result. He had to see Sirius again; he simply had to.  
  
"Do we have a plan?" asked Nymphadora Tonks, her spiky hair a violent shade of the brightest blue Harry had ever seen.   
  
"We're working on one," admitted Dumbledore in a tired voice. "Harry here is the only person among us who has ever had the chance to see Peter Pettigrew—Wormtail, Voldemort's faithful servant and for whose crimes Sirius was framed. He is the only one who can give a true account of Wormtail's involvement and survival, and possibly relay a testimony from Wormtail himself."  
  
"The only way Fudge would believe him is if Potter was given Veritaserum," mumbled Snape, his eyes darting to meet Harry's once again, and for the second time Harry felt a crackle of power snap between them.  
  
"That, I fear, is correct, Severus," said Dumbledore with an immensely heavy sigh. He then turned toward Harry, his clear blue eyes asking a thousand questions, but his words only speaking one. "Are you willing to go through this in order to free Sirius, Harry? They may ask you things you would never willingly give the answers to; your freedom of speech will be abandoned, and you will be able to speak only the truth, no matter how disjointed or unrealistic it may be. You will have absolutely no control over your actions, and I fear the effects of Veritaserum can be—unpredictable at best."  
  
Harry stared at Dumbledore for a long moment, trying to comprehend how the headmaster could even conceive of the notion that Harry would not do such a thing to save his godfather's life.  
  
"Headmaster," Harry began in a shaky but firm voice. "I don't care what I have to do—I'd fight Voldemort an infinite number of times if it meant bringing Sirius back."  
  
"That's the spirit," said Mad-Eye softly, his electric blue eye turning to rest on Harry. There was silence, an overwhelming silence that filled the air for a moment, before a soft voice to the right of Harry spoke up.  
  
"Albus," said Remus quietly. "Harry isn't the only one who has seen Wormtail return."  
  
Dumbledore's calm eyes turned upon the werewolf, as if seeing him for the first time.  
  
"I would be willing to give testimony," said Remus with a hint of steal. "I don't care about any decree against my kind—if there's anything I can do—"  
  
"We know, Remus," said Dumbledore kindly. "And I assure you, if Cornelius Fudge is willing to accept your testimony, I promise you will give it. I will do everything in my power to make this happen, Remus, but unfortunately we do not have the luxury of relying on the Minister's acceptance of werewolves and the grounds in which he is willing to listen to one's testimony. I am sorry, but while the ministry remains firmly against your kind, we must go with Harry."  
  
Harry watched as Remus nodded tightly, his hands clenched into fists as he raised his amber eyes to gaze into Harry's. For a brief moment, Harry felt the pain Remus was going through; he had, after all, lost his best friend and the last of the original Marauders. At that moment, Harry felt more compassion for Remus than he had for anyone else in his entire life, and his resolve strengthened.  
  
He was going to save Sirius, no matter what it took.  
  
  



	5. Sins of the Father

**Arch of Death** - _Chapter Four_  
  
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Just because I'm anal like this, I do have to point out that it is specifically stated that Harry is the only MEMBER of the Order who has seem Pettigrew alive. Fudge trusts Dumbledore and the Order now; he wouldn't trust a pair of teenagers, no matter how close to the Order they are. Just to clear up any confusion :o) Thanks again for all of your reviews.  
  
aC  
  
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Later that evening, Harry found himself quite alone in the middle of the Black house, wandering the corridors and feeling as if the weight of the world had been placed upon his shoulders. He noticed the lack of Sirius' looming presence, and this perhaps hurt more than all of the rest combined.  
  
He continued his wanderings until his own feet led him into the abandoned kitchen. Seemingly in disuse, the ancient room creaked and groaned uncomfortably loud, and each new sound made Harry jump. Slowly, he sat down in the seat Sirius had so often occupied at the long and rough wooden table, imagining for a moment what it would be like to have his godfather back.   
  
Bliss, he supposed; Sirius Black had been his only family, a family even the eternal warmth and generosity of the Weasleys couldn't recreate.  
  
Harry stared straight ahead for quite some time, neither knowing nor caring about the time past. It was until he caught the slightest hint of movement in the dark shadows near a long-forgotten corner that he finally came crashing back down to reality.  
  
His head turned toward the nook and his eyes searched intently for another sign that he wasn't alone. In the end, he was forced to squint and to tilt his head ever-so-slightly to the left, the end result being he could just barely make out a dark and looming figure, not at all unlike the figure Harry now imagined Sirius to be.  
  
"Hello?" he asked in a voice far too timid for his liking. He made a motion to stand up, but his actions proved unnecessary, for a moment later, Professor Severus Snape stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the dozen or so candles glittering above.  
  
"Stop staring, Potter," snapped the potions professor. "It makes you look even more like a slobbering idiot."  
  
Harry's cheeks burned at the man's insult, but the blush seemed more like an involuntary reaction rather than one due out of any sort of embarrassment or mind of what his professor thought of him. For a moment, Harry thought of fleeing, but he found himself too tired to even consider the matter any further, let alone take any sort of action whatsoever.  
  
When Harry didn't respond, Snape took a step closer, his usually-cruel demeanor softening somewhat, much to Harry's shock and surprise.  
  
"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Potter," said Snape in a low tone. "You'll soon find that all of your fantasies of playing hero will become just that, and when you do step forward to battle the Dark Lord, I am sure that you will find your trousers uncomfortably wet in no time."  
  
This time, a surge of anger flowed through Harry, and he had no qualms with shooting the worst glare he could muster at the oily man. "Just like you then, Professor?"  
  
Snape's black eyes narrowed; obviously he hadn't been expecting a retort.  
  
"What I do to help the Order and what you will do to help—or perhaps to hinder—the Order are of two completely different matters, Potter, none of which concern you." The coldness of his glare told Harry he wanted nothing more than to shut off that particular avenue of conversation. Harry, however, persisted.  
  
"So when you bend down and kiss Voldemort's slimy robes, you're helping the Order?" Harry tilted his head slightly, as if appraising the man standing before him. "Funny, that is—your definition of helping. I would have expected better from you, Professor."  
  
Instead of becoming enraged, as Harry much expected him to do, Snape stared at him for a moment, before finally taking a seat in one of the ancient wooden chairs a mere foot from where Harry was placed. "I would have thought you to be more perceptive, Potter, especially considering your recent foul-up that resulted in the loss of that petty little wanker you call a godfather."  
  
Harry clenched his fists tightly, wanting nothing more than to punch Snape. The use of the word 'wanker' by the always-articulate Snape didn't go unnoticed, however, and instead of satisfying his urge to hurt his potions professor in the worst way possible, he simply raised his eyebrows, a look a grim humor settling upon him.  
  
"Well, who has the last laugh this time, Professor? Last time I checked, he's still alive, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it."  
  
Snape grunted, surprising Harry even further. "Yes, well, I knew that long before you did, Potter, so don't you think you'll pulling one on me. You aren't the little _wonder boy_ Albus is making you out to be—we both know that. All you are is a simple accident, a random act of chance that Voldemort chose to be his oh-so-_worthy _opponent." With this, Snape sneered, his eyes becoming narrow slits. "So much like your father, Potter—he would be _proud_."   
  
Harry felt an odd shiver run down his spine at Snape's cold voice, one that was filled with an unfathomable amount of hatred. Finally, he dared to look the man in the eye, surprised at the weariness Snape was no longer trying to hide.  
  
"I'm not my father," he said tersely.  
  
Snape eyed him for a moment. "Do you really think so, Potter? Do you really think that you could flee from genetics, flee from the path that has been laid out for you since the moment of your conception?"  
  
"I haven't told a soul what I saw," said Harry quietly, knowing his words needed no more explanation than that. "Ron, Hermione—no one knows. I wouldn't have told them, even if you hadn't asked me not to."  
  
For the briefest of instants, Harry thought he saw something akin to amazement upon Snape's sallow features, but he blinked and what remained was the same old Severus Snape he had been growing accustomed to for nearly five years now.  
  
"Trying to protect your father's image, are you?" sneered Snape, albeit half-heartedly. "Wouldn't want word getting out that James Potter was no better than the Slytherin he tortured, would you?"  
  
"You weren't the only one of his victims," said Harry softly, not quite believing he was speaking of deceased father in such a manner as this. "There were others, you know."  
  
"Yes, Potter," snapped Snape. "That I'm well aware of. James even tortured your mother a bit—nothing as serious or as—"  
  
"Traumatizing?" supplied Harry, after a moment of silence as Snape groped for the correct word to use.  
  
"Or as traumatizing," continued Snape, his voice slower and more wary than before, "as he waged against myself and my fellow Slytherins, but he seemed to feel it was his duty to make everyone's life a living hell."  
  
He looked expectantly over toward Harry, as if he was sure the boy was going to retaliate with words of defense.  
  
"I know," said Harry quietly. "There was no excuse for his actions. I—" He paused, looking over at the man he loathed and abhorred for so many years. There was something different about him tonight, however, something Harry couldn't quite place a finger on. Snape seemed to have lessened the degree of hatred he felt toward Harry, or perhaps it was the mood Harry himself was in. Either way, he was surprised to find he felt no need to get up and walk out of the room as the two continued their banter; in fact, if the circumstances and topic had been any different, he thought he might quite like to argue with Snape without the threat of losing House Points. Even Harry was shrewd enough to realize the man sitting before him was a genius; in how many ways, however, he wasn't yet certain.  
  
Snape sat patiently, waiting for Harry to continue with what he had been saying. Harry took a deep breath and looked the potions professor straight in the eye, refusing to hold back any longer.  
  
"I'm not going to apologize for him, Professor," he began firmly, watching as Snape's expression turned from one of dislike to one of mild surprise and interest. "Even though I look like him, I'm afraid my father and I are two completely different people. It's time you learn to accept that, Professor, because no matter how much you hate me, I'm not going to be leaving any time soon. You'd better get used to me, and fast."  
  
Snape's eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. He stared at Harry for quite some time, an uncomfortable silence filling the air between them until Harry finally squirmed, making his wooden chair squeak loudly.  
  
"I know you are not your father, Potter," said Snape slowly. "Your actions have more than proven that to me."  
  
"I know my father was a git," said Harry tightly, "but there's nothing I can do about that. You can't go round blaming me for what he did twenty years ago."  
  
Snape was silent for a moment, almost as if he were collecting his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, albeit in a cracked and hoarse voice that reminded Harry of nothing he had ever heard before.  
  
"Do you remember your Sorting, Potter?"  
  
Harry blinked, then nodded. It hadn't been the question he was expecting.  
  
"That night, the Headmaster held a meeting," continued Snape, his hands folded together in an oddly tight grip. "Among other things, he instructed the staff to treat you no higher or lower than the rest of the student body. He told us to treat you as we would have had you not been the Boy Who Lived. That it how I treated you for five years, Potter," said Snape, lowering his gaze to the table. "Now, I fear, it is time for me to change that. You are a part of the Order now, and while I loathe the thought of you being in any way my equal, I accept that it is something I cannot change, and I will treat you the way you deserve to be treated."  
  
Harry nodded, feeling a sudden pang of a strange sympathy well up inside him.  
  
"And I you, Professor."  
  
Before Snape had a chance to reply, within the silence of the kitchens a low moaning echoed. Harry immediately looked up toward the ceiling, where he was sure the sound had come, while Snape grabbed his wand and immediately stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a highly annoying sound.  
  
Harry strained to listen. He wasn't able to understand exactly what the sound was, but Snape seemed to comprehend the noise almost immediately. Snape sank down into his chair once again, his pale face relaxing slightly.  
  
"It's only Lupin."  
  
Harry blinked. "What do you mean, 'it's only Lupin'?"  
  
Snape gave him an appraising look before pocketing his long dark wand. "Lupin has suffered greatly throughout these past few weeks, Potter. He and Black were extremely close—closer than I think even Dumbledore was aware. I would have thought that with all of that compassion buzzing around inside of you, you would have figured that out by now."  
  
Harry shifted in his seat once more, allowing what Snape had said to sink into his mind.  
  
"What, you mean they were best friends?" he asked.  
  
Snape was unable to suppress a smirk. "In a manner of speaking, Potter—yes."  
  
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, trying very hard to figure out exactly what it was Professor Snape was trying to say. "You mean they—err, they're closer than brothers?"  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Potter, if they were brothers, I'm absolutely certain they would both have been under arrest a very long time ago."  
  
Even with all of Snape's sharp hints, Harry was still unable to figure out exactly what his potions professor was trying to say.   
  
He liked it that way, he supposed; he wasn't prepared to have another issue shake up his already unsteady world.  
  



	6. The Ministry

**Arch of Death** - _Chapter Five_  
  
---  
  
Sorry about being such a pill about updating, guys. I had to work all weekend--from about seven in the morning to seven at night, and when I came home both nights I was too tired to do anything. And yesterday, I ended up having surgery and was too strung out on painkillers to write. So, here we go--new chapter. Sorry about taking so long. As for the Remus/Sirius slash bit, let me clarify something. Harry's more or less oblivious at this moment, and he will be for a very long time. You will NOT see any 'action' between the two, nor will there be any mention of it. It's something I feel we'll see in canon, but I'm not going to turn this into any kind of porn story whatsoever. Harry's straight, don't worry about that, and as much as I love slash, Remus and Sirius will be placed on a backburner--a very far away backburner. You won't be seeing it for a very long time. I'm in the process of working on a slash story that deals with Sirius running away, but that's--literally--a whole nother story.  
  
Aimée  
  
---  
  
  
  
Harry finally fell asleep a few hours past midnight, his head buzzing with the information he had been given and hadn't had the chance to process. His dreams were the same as they had been before Remus had taken him from the Dursley's: he saw—no, he felt Sirius, and he felt his fear, his anger, his desperation to escape. Only now, Harry knew, these weren't just dreams; Sirius was alive.  
  
Harry woke up with the rising sun, drenched in a cold sweat and trembling from head to foot. The emotional turmoil his dreams were putting his mind through was more than he thought he could handle. He felt he had come to grips with the loss of his godfather; now he was forced to recognize that all of his grieving had been for nothing. While he in no way felt angered or cheated, he still felt as if it had all been quite sudden—too sudden for his brain to be able to process. He yearned to see his godfather alive once more, but for now all he could do was wait.  
  
He lay in bed for a good half-hour before he heard a soft knocking on his door. He grumbled an answer, sure it was too low for anyone to hear, but a moment later the serpent-shaped doorknob turned and the door swung open, revealing Remus Lupin standing there.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," said Remus with a tight smile. "Sleep well?"  
  
For a brief moment, Harry considered telling him what he had heard last night, alone in the kitchens with Snape, and what had been tumbling within his mind while he slept. He took one good look at the man's tired and gray face, however, and immediately decided against it.  
  
"Better than I ever have at the Dursley's," answered Harry untruthfully, knowing such an answer would satisfy Remus. "And you?"  
  
Harry watched as Remus flinched slightly, his amber eyes closing and his face paling slightly.  
  
"Not so well, I'm afraid," he admitted, taking a step forward and closing the door. "Harry—are you sure you're all right with this? Going in front of the Ministry and taking Veritaserum—they could ask you anything."  
  
"I know," said Harry firmly, willing the blush that was creeping up onto his cheeks to go away as he thought of Cho and many other thoughts he would have rather kept to himself. "I want Sirius back, Professor, and so do you. I don't care what I have to tell them in the process; even if I'm thrown into Azkaban next, it'll be worth it as long as Sirius is freed."  
  
Remus stared at Harry for what felt like an eternity, until his tired face broke out into a grin. "Thank you," he said softly. "Sirius would have loved to hear you say that."  
  
"He'll be able to," said Harry resolutely. "As soon as we get him out of there."  
  
  
  
  
Two days past filled with nothing but frantic meetings coupled with empty time spent wandering the manor. Harry spent more and more time with Remus, finding he was the only member of the Order who was willing to spend great amounts of time with Harry without having to run off and do errands for Dumbledore. The Headmaster sensed this, Harry felt, and allowed Remus to stay with Harry as a guardian of sorts while the other members of the Order were away.  
  
Finally, the morning of the interrogation—for that truly was the only word to describe it—arrived. Instead of the nervous anticipation Harry had worked himself up to expect, he found himself strangely calm and controlled while others buzzed nervously around the breakfast table.  
  
"Aren't you even the slightest bit—well—?" asked Nymphadora Tonks, spooning her grapefruit violently.  
  
"No," answered Harry with a shrug.  
  
"All right, who slipped a calming potion into Potter's drink last night?" grumbled Mad-Eye Moody, present for the first time since their last meeting. It seemed to Harry as if more than the usual amount of members were present that morning; Kingsley Shacklebolt sat to the right of Tonks, Lupin to the left of Harry, Mad-Eye to the right, another half-dozen or so odd members with whom Harry wasn't well acquainted, and to many of the Order's surprise, Severus Snape sat in the seat next to Remus, refusing to eat and not saying a word.  
  
Slowly, every pair of eyes—save Harry's—turned toward the sallow-skinned Potions professor, who merely stared right back with the venom of a snake.  
  
Before anyone could say a word, Albus Dumbledore came waltzing into the room, his eyes twinkling as he observed the scene set before him. It had been a long time since Harry had seen Dumbledore this content; these days, the Headmaster seemed to be every one of his one-hundred and fifty years, a fact Harry tried very hard to ignore.  
  
"Good morning," said Dumbledore cheerfully, sitting down at the head of the table. "Well, it looks as if a surprising number of you have turned up this morning—no doubt to wish Harry here well before we leave?"  
  
A murmur echoed throughout the dozen or so members who sat around the table, many of the eyes that had been staring at Snape now focused on Harry.  
  
"Excellent," praised Dumbledore, his blue eyes looking at every member in turn. "Has Arthur by any chance made it here this morning?"  
  
"No," answered Remus quietly. "He, Molly, and the children were unable to leave Romania in time to make it today."  
  
"Is that so?" asked Dumbledore, calmly pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "Such a shame—I'm sure Harry would have enjoyed seeing them, wouldn't you have, Harry?"  
  
Harry nodded silently, wondering exactly what it was the Weasleys were doing in Romania. They were with Charlie, no doubt, but he was curious as to why at least Ron couldn't have stayed behind to keep him company.  
  
Dumbledore took a quick glance at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room, one of many spread throughout Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. "Well, it's best we leave now, Harry. We wouldn't want to miss our appointment, now, would we?"  
  
With that, Harry stood up, abandoning his breakfast without a word. To his surprise, both Remus and Snape stood up with him, Remus wearing an expression of resolve and Snape wearing one of indifference. While Harry was sure Snape's was meticulously planned, he was surprised at the determination Remus was showing.  
  
"Ah, Severus, Remus—of course, of course," murmured Dumbledore as he too stood. The four of them silently made their way out of the kitchen and up the flight of stairs that led into the foyer, where the portrait of Sirius' mother still hung, snoring softly.  
  
"Severus, Remus, you and I will be Apparating, of course," said the Headmaster with a nod toward each. "Harry, I have a portkey set up for you."  
  
Dumbledore produced the same purple marble Remus had used only days before, and he held it out to Harry with a small smile. "Here, boy—take it. We shall meet you there."  
  
With that, Harry took the small marble in his hands, and as the three Apparated with a small pop, he felt the unpleasant jerking sensation somewhere behind his naval. He felt himself spinning and flying through the air, and a moment later, he landed onto a hard wooden surface with a thud.  
  
He opened his eyes carefully as he stood up, and a moment later he heard another set of three small pops, signaling the others had indeed met him here.  
  
As he looking around him at the many gilded fireplaces and the marble fountain, he realized where he was.  
  
The Ministry of Magic.  
  



	7. Fudged

**Arch of Death** -_ Chapter Six_  
  
---  
  
Well, this is a longer-than-average chapter. Enjoy. By the way guys--I'm serious when I say the slash is going to be minimal. I fully intend on covering my Remus/Sirius urges in ANOTHER fic (up soon, if you're interested), but this entire story is compiled of many of MY theories as to what canon's going to be like. Included is minimal Remus/Sirius. I highly doubt JKR would even come outright and SAY the two were together--and I'm going to do very little with that anyway. Harry isn't going to be all slashly (unfortunately. I'm a Harry/Draco shipper)...he has his own relationship with a girl to deal with later on, once we get to Hogwarts. Wow. You guys are funny..."SLASH? Ewww!" :o) And I mean that in the best way possible.  
  
Aimée (www.phoenixashes.net)  
  
---  
  
  
  
Harry, Dumbledore, Remus and Snape stepped off the lift and into Level 2 of the Ministry of Magic, where Harry could see the rows and rows of cubicles each housing an individual Auror's desk and personal belongings. As he looked around, the strange sense of calmness still filling him, he noticed that Professor Snape hung back a bit, almost as if he didn't know the others all too well. Before he could question his antics, Dumbledore steered him toward the right and through a pair of shining wooden doors, revealing a pristine office.  
  
"Albus!" a woman's voice sounded. Harry looked over toward the desk, where a familiar-looking woman sat dressed in robes of the deepest purple.  
  
"Amelia," greeted Dumbledore warmly. The two met in the middle of the room and embraced, and Harry looked away, toward Remus, who seemed to have a flicker of recognition dancing within his eyes.  
  
"Well now," the woman—Amelia—said after a moment, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the front of her robes as she turned toward Harry. "Hello, Mr. Potter—I'm quite sure you don't remember me."  
  
"Err," mumbled Harry. "No, I'm sorry."  
  
She nodded. "That is to be expected. You were, of course, under a great deal of stress when we met face-to-face. My name is Amelia Bones, Harry, and we met at your hearing last year, when that imbecile Fudge and his little mistress Umbridge tried to have you expelled."  
  
Recognition shot through Harry like a bullet, but after he nodded and greeted her with the smallest of hellos, he glanced toward Remus, surprised by the animosity with which Amelia Bones had spoken.  
  
"Many members of the Ministry are—less than fond, shall we say, of Fudge these days," admitted Madam Bones. "He will of course be present at the interrogation, seeing as how we are gathering evidence for such a high-profile and potentially dangerous criminal—"  
  
"He's not a criminal," said Harry firmly, looking into the short woman's eyes defiantly. "It's Pettigrew who—"  
  
"Save it for the interrogation, Harry," muttered Remus, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.  
  
Madam Bones lowered her eyes. "Harry, I must admit that I am hesitant to believe you at this moment. After you are under the influence of Veritaserum, of course—"  
  
"Of course," said Dumbledore easily, taking a step forward. "My Potions Master has graciously agreed to supply the Ministry with three vials, as requested. Severus?"  
  
Professor Snape stepped forward and produced the three vials from within the folds of his robes, handing them carefully to Madam Bones. She thanked him with a bow of her head before examining each vial closely. She stepped back toward her desk, where three crystal-clear cauldrons stood, each filled with a sky-blue mixture that, as Harry sniffed the air, he found smelled of violets.  
  
Carefully, Madam Bones uncapped one of the vials and slowly angled the glass container over the first cauldron, allowing only a very small amount to splash down into the potion. To Harry's surprise the potion turned blood-red and instead of the smell of violets, emitted one more similar to dead fish. She repeated this with each vial until, seemingly satisfied with the results, recapped the vials and set them gently down upon her desk.  
  
Remus tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder, and Harry glanced up toward the man to whose height he was rapidly gaining. In that single moment, as Harry looked into Remus' sorrow-filled eyes, he realized exactly how important this was to Remus.  
  
"Fudge and Shacklebolt are due at any moment," said Madam Bones, glancing over toward a glowing clock that hung upon her wall. Barely a second after she had spoken, the double doors burst open, revealing a red-faced Minister of Magic and a harassed-looking Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry masked his surprise at seeing the black man standing before him; he had seen him only minutes before, sitting around the breakfast table stuffing his mouth with toast.  
  
"Dumbledore," said Fudge crisply, walking pompously past the small cluster and taking a seat behind Madam Bones' desk. He eyes the color of the potion in all three cauldrons warily before looking up toward Harry, and then toward Snape. "I see the potion has tested to be correct."  
  
"You expected anything less?" said Dumbledore in a jolly voice, but Harry could tell the Headmaster was anything but happy.  
  
"No, no," bumbled Fudge, nervously shifting a stack of papers he had brought with him. "All right—Harry? Shall we get started? Kingsley will be asking the questions. He is one of our best Aurors and was the one to lead the hunt on Sirius Black."  
  
Harry nodded numbly, still surprised by the absence of anxiety within him. Had Moody been correct in his assumption that someone—that Snape had slipped something into his drink the night before?  
  
Snape stepped forward, holding one of the glass vials and a goblet full of what looked to be tea. He set the goblet down upon the desk and deftly removed a small portion of the serum with a dropper, and moments later Harry watched as three drops of the potion were added into the drink. Slowly, Snape handed Harry the goblet, and without a moment's hesitation, Harry drank deeply, surprised when the tea tasted exactly as it should.  
  
He swallowed a mouthful of tea and blinked, his eyes unfocused behind his glasses for a second. He saw Professor Snape's face loom before him, and felt his mind detach and float. It was a pleasant sensation, but Harry was alarmed by the lack of control he found himself to possess.  
  
"Ahem," Fudge cleared his throat. "Now—Auror Shacklebolt? Shall we proceed?"  
  
Harry felt someone—Remus, he supposed—steer him down into a plush chair he hadn't noticed. In fact, he mused, it might have not been there when he first walked in. He glanced up toward Dumbledore, who was eyeing him with a certain amount of concern.  
  
"State your name for the record," requested Kingsley quietly from directly in front of Harry. He shifted his gaze so he was looking at the black man, and he felt as if he were floating as he answered the man's question.  
  
"Harry James Potter."  
  
Kingsley nodded. "And what is your relation to Sirius Black?"  
  
"He's my godfather," answered Harry in a strangely hollow voice.  
  
"When can you first remember meeting Black?" asked Kingsley, looking down a piece of parchment he was holding.  
  
"On the night of June the sixth, 1994," answered Harry in a monotonous voice. "He dragged my friend Ron through the Whomping Willow—"  
  
"Dragged?" questioned Kingsley.  
  
"By the leg," answered Harry. "Hermione and I ran after them, and Crookshanks stopped the tree for us so we could get through—"  
  
"Did you recognize Sirius Black?"  
  
"No," said Harry with a shake of his head. "He was in his Animagus form."  
  
"Animagus?" Kingsley asked, doing a wonderful imitation of complete and utter shock. "Sirius Black is an Animagus?"  
  
"Yes," answered Harry. "He turns into a great black dog—a grim."  
  
Kingsley nodded and wrote something down in his notes. "And what did Sirius say to you?"  
  
"He said he was innocent," replied Harry. "He told Hermione, Ron and me that it wasn't him who had killed all those people—it was Peter Pettigrew."  
  
"Who is Peter Pettigrew?"  
  
"He's Voldemort's right-hand man," answered Harry, his mind balking at the mere mention of the revolting man. "He helped Voldemort rise on June the twenty-fourth, 1995. He was also a friend of my father's, Sirius' and Remus' when they were all at Hogwarts."  
  
Harry heard a strangled sound somewhere behind him, and he knew it to be Remus. He hated to bring up a past that must have been extremely painful for the man to relive, but he knew it was essential to convincing Fudge that Sirius was innocent.  
  
"Is—is Pettigrew also an Animagus?" Kingsley asked, his voice shaking slightly.  
  
"Yes," answered Harry hollowly. "He turns into a rat."  
  
Fudge began to cough heavily, almost as if he were choking on something lodged deep within his throat. Harry ignored him, however, all of his attention focused upon Kingsley.  
  
"Was it Peter who killed all of those people on November the first, 1981?" Kingsley asked softly, his voice trembling. If Harry hadn't known him to be acting, he would have felt far more triumphant by far. Fudge's coughing fit more than made up for that, however.  
  
"Yes," said Harry, his mind exalting. "He confessed on June sixth, 1994, to myself, Sirius, Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Sirius and Remus were prepared to kill him, as he had all of those people, but I asked them not to."  
  
"Why?" Kingsley asked, shocked, and Harry could tell his reaction was real.  
  
"Because I didn't want them to be murderers like him," replied Harry. "Peter Pettigrew was my family's secret-keeper when the Fidelius charm was cast. He and Sirius switched places, unbeknownst to everyone except my parents, and less than a week later he gave away my family's location to Voldemort. After Sirius cornered him, he blamed him for everything. Everyone thought Sirius was the secret-keeper, so it wasn't very hard to do, and afterwards, he hid his wand behind his back and blasted the street apart, killing all those Muggles."  
  
Kingsley blinked, and Harry saw Fudge turn a nasty shade of purple from behind Madam Bones' desk. "Who was it that told you this, Harry?" asked Kingsley.  
  
"Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Albus Dumbledore," responded Harry. "Peter Pettigrew admitted to   
everything I've said, and I saw him at Voldemort's resurrection, along with many other Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy—"  
  
"That's enough!" snapped Fudge, standing up abruptly. "It is not his job to report a who's who list of You-Know-Who's supporters, Shacklebolt."  
  
"Yet it helps support the evidence," Madam Bones pointed out. "Cornelius, I see nothing wrong with what the boy is saying."  
Fudge shook his head fiercely. "Boy, is there anything else you'd like to say regarding Sirius Black?"  
  
"Yes," replied Harry. "He is innocent of everything the Ministry has accused him of. He has never killed anyone in his life, and I'm not the only one who has seen Peter Pettigrew alive."  
  
"But you are the—most trusted," said Madam Bones with a sigh. "Thank you Harry, Headmaster, Professors," she said with another bow of her head. "I see no reason for you to stay any longer. Kingsley will present this evidence in front of the Wizengamot at a later hour, and if your presence is required at the hearing, we shall owl you with the details."  
  
With that, Remus motioned for Harry to stand, and the four of them—Dumbledore, Remus, Snape and Harry—made their way out of the office, leaving behind a very confused woman and a sullen and angry Minister of Magic.  
  
Harry was thoroughly convinced Sirius' chances of survival had just slipped from slim to none.  
  



	8. Author's Note: 71503

**Arch of Death - Author's Note**  
  
Hey guys,  
  
I'm so sorry about taking so long to get the next chapter out. I haven't abandoned this story, I promise--I have way too much planned for it just to drop it now. However, I have a lot of things on my plate right now. I have two books that need to be ready for publication (or at least damn close) by late August, and I have a lot of publicity for my first book that's been hitting the fan. On top of writing, editing, and publicity, I have two other steady jobs that take up a lot of my time. I adore writing fanfic, and I promise this WILL be updated soon.  
  
I'm going to be replacing this AN with the chapter when it comes up, just to warn you, so it'd be best if you checked the actual chapter instead of the number of chapters there are.  
  
Editing's crazy, let me tell you. My editor's wonderful, but man, she's nitpicky. *grin* Melissa Anelli, from TLC--any of you guys know of her? Great chick, really awesome. I have two novels (and when I say novels, I don't mean novellas...I mean NOVELS) to edit before a writers conference she and I are attending at the end of August. It's a pain, yes, but this is my job and I love it to death, so...  
  
In short, I'm busy, be back soon. *grin*  
  
Aimée Carter (aC)  



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